Right to Remain Silent
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
763
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
763
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Right to Remain Silent
A/N: This is in response to http://hp.adult-fanfiction.org/story.php?no=600011139 which is a very specific challenge. The lyrics to "Before He Cheats," which is the song this is based on, can be found here: http://www.elyrics.net/read/c/carrie-underwood-lyrics/before-he-cheats-lyrics.html
Another A/N: WOW! I didn't know people were actually going to review. I posted this at 2:00 am last time, so it quickly got covered by other stories... Let's see:
Miss Nikki: Thank you so much, both for your great feedback and your referrals.
Lady_Diablo: We all have to dig for our bitterness. I'm SURE you have it in you!
Graballz: YES! You got exactly what I wanted out of it, with the chorus playing and everything!
silky eyes: I laughed maniacally when I finished writing it!
The Right to Remain Silent
Harry Potter sat in the cold metal chair and stared at the man in front of him. The tall, slightly fat man paced and Harry cocked an eyebrow. The officer sighed.
“Okay, so you vandalised his property, endangered his person, and caused £22,000 worth of damages because you were… angry?”
“Yes.” There was a moment of slightly uncomfortable silence.
“Why?!”
Harry smiled. He had expected that question, and was all too ready to rant to someone. He took a deep breath.
.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.FLASHBACK.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.
It had all started when Draco was away on business. Harry had been doing some cleaning around their flat to surprise his boyfriend when he returned. His second-to-last project was organising the blond’s large walk-in closet full of designer clothes.
As Harry reached the back of the closet, he noticed something odd. There was a shirt and a pair of boxers scrunched down in the corner, juxtaposed harshly against the almost surgically clean closet.
That is definitely not like Draco, he mused. He picked up the dark button-down shirt and started to shake out the wrinkles. A scent filled the space: a musky cologne that was not his lover’s. Harry knew the fresh, clean Polo that Draco wore, but this smelled more like Drakkar Noir. The odour stirred something in his memory, but he couldn’t place it. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for the boxers still wadded up on the floor.
Almost as soon as he picked the garment up, Harry hurled it away from himself with such force that he heard it smack the wall. They were dirty, soiled with dried cum, and suddenly, terribly, Harry remembered where he had smelled Drakkar Noir before.
“Blaise!” he sobbed out loud. “Fuck, Draco, you promised me it was over!” He had seen Draco wear this shirt only the week before. The dark-haired wreck of a man choked as he remembered how worried he had been that night, when Draco hadn’t come home. Later, he claimed he had been working late and had fallen asleep. But he hadn’t picked up his office phone….
Harry stayed that way, on the floor with his knees up to his chest, and cried for a time. Then he abruptly sat up, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and stood. His mind was clear. Draco was only a thirty-minute plane flight away, and they had plenty of money. He considered calling his boyfriend, but couldn't bear to hear the lies.
Harry dressed and went to the airport. All through the ticketing, security, and boarding, he made eye contact with no-one. On the plane, he sat quietly, smiling slightly with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. He ran his fingers over the keys in his pocket as though they were rosary beads: his office, his flat, Draco’s car….
Once off the plane, Harry hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of Draco’s hotel, which he had in case of emergency. Once there, he waited in the atrium, searching passers-by for that telltale glimpse of silver-blond. After two hours or so, his heart skipped a beat. That strut, the muscles moving under the shoulders, the hips twisting as he walked with his head held high. It was beautiful. It was Draco.
He watched as the blond devil went down to the garage, and was waiting in another cab when Draco pulled out in his brand-new Lotus Elise. Cherry red. Draco had insisted upon driving up instead of flying, and Harry had laughed it off, assuming it was a chance to show off his new car. Bullshit. It was probably just to impress Blaise, he thought, a lump forming in his throat.
“Follow that car, please,” he told the cabbie quietly. “The red one.”
The driver nodded and they were off, winding through the streets to the centre of the town. Signs from clubs glowed neon from every direction, and queues of scantily-clad women and well-dressed men littered the sidewalk. The red Lotus stopped in front of a club whose sign proclaimed, or perhaps promised, Close Encounters. The queue was comprised entirely of gay and lesbian couples.
“That will do, thank you,” said Harry, and he paid the driver. He exited out onto the curb, watching Draco send the car with the valet before stepping up to the front of the queue and talking to the bouncer. Harry’s stomach lurched as his eyes followed Draco’s long finger down the larger man’s chest. The bouncer pulled back the velvet rope to allow the blond entrance, and received a sultry look and a quick laugh in thanks. As the guard stepped aside, Harry saw Blaise. He had been standing just within the entrance, apparently waiting for Draco. They embraced, sharing a sensual kiss. Harry shut his eyes in pain, and when he opened them, the pair was walking into the club, Blaise’s hand on Draco’s firm ass.
Harry walked around to the back of the club to the parking lot, hunting desperately for Draco’s car. His eyes landed on the cherry red, and he hurried over to it. He let himself into the car with his spare key, and sat on the driver’s seat in the dark. Tears snaked down his face as he imagined the happenings inside the club. He heard a song end from inside, and another, slower one begin.
Right now, he’s probably doing that amazing little dance he does, thought Harry. He could see the swaying of Draco’s hips, the lust in Blaise’s eyes. He knew all too well the feeling of the blond grinding against him, simulating sex while standing. He considered the slightly feminine quality of Blaise. Bet he can’t do whiskey shots like Draco likes, mused Harry smugly. Then he sighed. But I’m sure Draco just orders him Apple-tinis or something equally repulsive.
Suddenly a rush of rage took him. He imagined Blaise slurring “I’m drunk,” and Draco’s eyes lighting up at the thought of the night ahead. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and the horn sounded, startling him. He climbed out of the car and banged the door closed, hard. He stood there, in the slightly cold air, trembling with anger.
All of a sudden, he realized he had taken Draco’s car key in his shaking hand and placed it against the car door, not in the lock, but into the new red paint. Okay, Harry, he thought to himself, do you really want to do this?
Yes.
He dug the key into the side of the car, making horrible noises as the paint came off in threads. He wrote “FUCK YOU” in huge letters, and then laughed at himself for being so crude. With childlike glee, he ran around to the other side and started carving swirls into that door too. The brunette opened the car door again, this time from the passenger side, and pulled out his pocket-knife. He took a deep whiff of the genuine leather seats, relishing the new-car smell. He also caught the Drakkar Noir again, albeit faintly, and it spurred him to further action. He stabbed the tip of the knife into the main part of the seat, and pulled it down. Inspiration suddenly hitting him, he created a series of lines spelling “Harry," even including an over-the-top flourish at the end of the "y." The other seat received the same treatment.
Climbing out of the car again, Harry marvelled at the interestingly-shaped headlights. He looked around the parking lot for something to smash them with.
“Here,” called a blonde plot device with a southern accent, “use my baseball bat.” Harry stared at her a moment, then took the heavy bat in his hands. The writing on it said “Louisville Slugger.”
“Thanks,” replied Harry uncertainly. The woman smiled and walked away. He felt the weight of the bat for a minute, then abruptly swung. The sound of breaking glass was beautiful, and fully made up for the ruined beauty of the front of the car. He moved around, hitting each headlight and severely denting both fenders.
For the finishing touch, he pulled out his knife again. He pulled his arm back, and with all his strength jabbed a hole in the front right tire. He slid the knife down a crevice in the tread and the air started to deflate. After he felt it sufficiently ventilated, he moved to the rear right tire, then the rear left and finally the front left. His work completed, he gathered himself up and walked to the front of the club. Strangely calm, he focused on taking Draco’s key off his key ring while moving.
Harry reached the front entrance with a swagger, walked straight up to the same guard that he had seen Draco play and kissed him on the mouth. After a few seconds he pulled back, winked, and said, “I have to deliver a message to someone inside. Do you mind if I…?”
The guard looked quickly around and then motioned him through. As Harry sauntered past, he felt the man’s hand connect with his butt. He rolled his eyes and continued walking.
He spotted Draco and Blaise at the bar. As he suspected, Blaise had some kind of oddly-coloured drink in his hand while Draco’s shot glass was resting on the bar. Harry approached, and he caught his lover’s silver eyes. The blonde’s jaw dropped, but Harry kept on advancing. Blaise looked back over his shoulder and paled.
Harry said not a word to either one, simply dropped Draco’s key into his shot, turned on his heel, and walked away.
He laughed the entire cab ride back to the airport, where the police arrested him.
.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.END FLASHBACK.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.
He exhaled. “So that’s the story. You going to book me now?”
The police officer just sat in silence. Harry smiled and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I’d do it again, you know.”
The officer gasped. “What?”
“Well, it worked, didn’t it? The next time that he cheats, you know it won’t be on me.”
A/N: Once again, the song belongs to Carrie Underwood, not me.
Read? Review!
Another A/N: WOW! I didn't know people were actually going to review. I posted this at 2:00 am last time, so it quickly got covered by other stories... Let's see:
Miss Nikki: Thank you so much, both for your great feedback and your referrals.
Lady_Diablo: We all have to dig for our bitterness. I'm SURE you have it in you!
Graballz: YES! You got exactly what I wanted out of it, with the chorus playing and everything!
silky eyes: I laughed maniacally when I finished writing it!
The Right to Remain Silent
Harry Potter sat in the cold metal chair and stared at the man in front of him. The tall, slightly fat man paced and Harry cocked an eyebrow. The officer sighed.
“Okay, so you vandalised his property, endangered his person, and caused £22,000 worth of damages because you were… angry?”
“Yes.” There was a moment of slightly uncomfortable silence.
“Why?!”
Harry smiled. He had expected that question, and was all too ready to rant to someone. He took a deep breath.
.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.FLASHBACK.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.
It had all started when Draco was away on business. Harry had been doing some cleaning around their flat to surprise his boyfriend when he returned. His second-to-last project was organising the blond’s large walk-in closet full of designer clothes.
As Harry reached the back of the closet, he noticed something odd. There was a shirt and a pair of boxers scrunched down in the corner, juxtaposed harshly against the almost surgically clean closet.
That is definitely not like Draco, he mused. He picked up the dark button-down shirt and started to shake out the wrinkles. A scent filled the space: a musky cologne that was not his lover’s. Harry knew the fresh, clean Polo that Draco wore, but this smelled more like Drakkar Noir. The odour stirred something in his memory, but he couldn’t place it. Slowly, hesitantly, he reached for the boxers still wadded up on the floor.
Almost as soon as he picked the garment up, Harry hurled it away from himself with such force that he heard it smack the wall. They were dirty, soiled with dried cum, and suddenly, terribly, Harry remembered where he had smelled Drakkar Noir before.
“Blaise!” he sobbed out loud. “Fuck, Draco, you promised me it was over!” He had seen Draco wear this shirt only the week before. The dark-haired wreck of a man choked as he remembered how worried he had been that night, when Draco hadn’t come home. Later, he claimed he had been working late and had fallen asleep. But he hadn’t picked up his office phone….
Harry stayed that way, on the floor with his knees up to his chest, and cried for a time. Then he abruptly sat up, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and stood. His mind was clear. Draco was only a thirty-minute plane flight away, and they had plenty of money. He considered calling his boyfriend, but couldn't bear to hear the lies.
Harry dressed and went to the airport. All through the ticketing, security, and boarding, he made eye contact with no-one. On the plane, he sat quietly, smiling slightly with his eyes closed behind his sunglasses. He ran his fingers over the keys in his pocket as though they were rosary beads: his office, his flat, Draco’s car….
Once off the plane, Harry hailed a cab. He gave the driver the address of Draco’s hotel, which he had in case of emergency. Once there, he waited in the atrium, searching passers-by for that telltale glimpse of silver-blond. After two hours or so, his heart skipped a beat. That strut, the muscles moving under the shoulders, the hips twisting as he walked with his head held high. It was beautiful. It was Draco.
He watched as the blond devil went down to the garage, and was waiting in another cab when Draco pulled out in his brand-new Lotus Elise. Cherry red. Draco had insisted upon driving up instead of flying, and Harry had laughed it off, assuming it was a chance to show off his new car. Bullshit. It was probably just to impress Blaise, he thought, a lump forming in his throat.
“Follow that car, please,” he told the cabbie quietly. “The red one.”
The driver nodded and they were off, winding through the streets to the centre of the town. Signs from clubs glowed neon from every direction, and queues of scantily-clad women and well-dressed men littered the sidewalk. The red Lotus stopped in front of a club whose sign proclaimed, or perhaps promised, Close Encounters. The queue was comprised entirely of gay and lesbian couples.
“That will do, thank you,” said Harry, and he paid the driver. He exited out onto the curb, watching Draco send the car with the valet before stepping up to the front of the queue and talking to the bouncer. Harry’s stomach lurched as his eyes followed Draco’s long finger down the larger man’s chest. The bouncer pulled back the velvet rope to allow the blond entrance, and received a sultry look and a quick laugh in thanks. As the guard stepped aside, Harry saw Blaise. He had been standing just within the entrance, apparently waiting for Draco. They embraced, sharing a sensual kiss. Harry shut his eyes in pain, and when he opened them, the pair was walking into the club, Blaise’s hand on Draco’s firm ass.
Harry walked around to the back of the club to the parking lot, hunting desperately for Draco’s car. His eyes landed on the cherry red, and he hurried over to it. He let himself into the car with his spare key, and sat on the driver’s seat in the dark. Tears snaked down his face as he imagined the happenings inside the club. He heard a song end from inside, and another, slower one begin.
Right now, he’s probably doing that amazing little dance he does, thought Harry. He could see the swaying of Draco’s hips, the lust in Blaise’s eyes. He knew all too well the feeling of the blond grinding against him, simulating sex while standing. He considered the slightly feminine quality of Blaise. Bet he can’t do whiskey shots like Draco likes, mused Harry smugly. Then he sighed. But I’m sure Draco just orders him Apple-tinis or something equally repulsive.
Suddenly a rush of rage took him. He imagined Blaise slurring “I’m drunk,” and Draco’s eyes lighting up at the thought of the night ahead. He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and the horn sounded, startling him. He climbed out of the car and banged the door closed, hard. He stood there, in the slightly cold air, trembling with anger.
All of a sudden, he realized he had taken Draco’s car key in his shaking hand and placed it against the car door, not in the lock, but into the new red paint. Okay, Harry, he thought to himself, do you really want to do this?
Yes.
He dug the key into the side of the car, making horrible noises as the paint came off in threads. He wrote “FUCK YOU” in huge letters, and then laughed at himself for being so crude. With childlike glee, he ran around to the other side and started carving swirls into that door too. The brunette opened the car door again, this time from the passenger side, and pulled out his pocket-knife. He took a deep whiff of the genuine leather seats, relishing the new-car smell. He also caught the Drakkar Noir again, albeit faintly, and it spurred him to further action. He stabbed the tip of the knife into the main part of the seat, and pulled it down. Inspiration suddenly hitting him, he created a series of lines spelling “Harry," even including an over-the-top flourish at the end of the "y." The other seat received the same treatment.
Climbing out of the car again, Harry marvelled at the interestingly-shaped headlights. He looked around the parking lot for something to smash them with.
“Here,” called a blonde plot device with a southern accent, “use my baseball bat.” Harry stared at her a moment, then took the heavy bat in his hands. The writing on it said “Louisville Slugger.”
“Thanks,” replied Harry uncertainly. The woman smiled and walked away. He felt the weight of the bat for a minute, then abruptly swung. The sound of breaking glass was beautiful, and fully made up for the ruined beauty of the front of the car. He moved around, hitting each headlight and severely denting both fenders.
For the finishing touch, he pulled out his knife again. He pulled his arm back, and with all his strength jabbed a hole in the front right tire. He slid the knife down a crevice in the tread and the air started to deflate. After he felt it sufficiently ventilated, he moved to the rear right tire, then the rear left and finally the front left. His work completed, he gathered himself up and walked to the front of the club. Strangely calm, he focused on taking Draco’s key off his key ring while moving.
Harry reached the front entrance with a swagger, walked straight up to the same guard that he had seen Draco play and kissed him on the mouth. After a few seconds he pulled back, winked, and said, “I have to deliver a message to someone inside. Do you mind if I…?”
The guard looked quickly around and then motioned him through. As Harry sauntered past, he felt the man’s hand connect with his butt. He rolled his eyes and continued walking.
He spotted Draco and Blaise at the bar. As he suspected, Blaise had some kind of oddly-coloured drink in his hand while Draco’s shot glass was resting on the bar. Harry approached, and he caught his lover’s silver eyes. The blonde’s jaw dropped, but Harry kept on advancing. Blaise looked back over his shoulder and paled.
Harry said not a word to either one, simply dropped Draco’s key into his shot, turned on his heel, and walked away.
He laughed the entire cab ride back to the airport, where the police arrested him.
.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.END FLASHBACK.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.oO0Oo.
He exhaled. “So that’s the story. You going to book me now?”
The police officer just sat in silence. Harry smiled and leaned his chair back on two legs. “I’d do it again, you know.”
The officer gasped. “What?”
“Well, it worked, didn’t it? The next time that he cheats, you know it won’t be on me.”
A/N: Once again, the song belongs to Carrie Underwood, not me.
Read? Review!